"Great tidings, old man," cried Murchison, breaking in upon the meditative little man, blowing great clouds of smoke. "I'll give you six guesses."
"Not in a guessing mood," returned Jack shortly. "All my brain-power is used up. I am trying to concoct a letter to the dear old aunt—God bless her, she is one of the best!—insinuating gently that a cheque for a couple of hundred would be very convenient at the present moment."
Murchison took a seat. "Silly old ass," he said in a kindly tone, "if you want a couple of hundred have it from me, and don't worry about the aunt. You can pay me when she stumps-up. From what you have told me about your respected relative, it might be a lengthy business. I suppose you will plead debts. She might offer to discharge them, and ask the names of the creditors. In that case, old chap, you wouldn't handle much personally, would you?"
Pomfret laughed genially. He was always very hard-up, but he was never depressed for very long. There was always a silver lining to every cloud.
"She's the sweetest, dearest soul on God's earth," he said in a tone of conviction. "But you know, Hughie old man, she doesn't understand—I say emphatically, she doesn't understand—you know what I mean. She is early Victorian. As to your suggestion, I appreciate it very much, but emphatically, no." He added, with a whimsical smile: "Yours is a loan, I should have to pay back; Heaven knows when I could do so. The dear old aunt, well, it is a gift, no question of paying back. I haven't thought it all out yet, but in the early cool of to-morrow morning, I shall write her a beautiful and touching letter. I know by experience it will bring a cheque."
"You're an artful young devil, I know," said Murchison. Straight as a die himself, he was not too appreciative of his friend's diplomatic methods.
On the other hand, was he justified in criticising? He had a magnificent allowance from his opulent father. Poor Jack, with a somewhat puritanical and niggardly aunt at his back, had just to worry along, and live in this expensive regiment from hand to mouth.
There was no more to be said on this subject.
"Well, Jack, are you in a mood to listen to my news?"
Pomfret leaned forward, and flicked the ash oft his cigar. "Yes, I think I am. Begone dull care! I shall write that letter the first thing to-morrow morning."